


Movements

by lowlaif



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Humor, Loki's snake shenanigans pt. 2, M/M, Sexual Tension, idek might add onto it later?, this is basically one big "if you squint"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 18:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowlaif/pseuds/lowlaif
Summary: Back when they'd been eight, Loki had stabbed him.Now that they're both 17, the god of mischief's got other methods to pierce Thor's thick skin.





	Movements

“As soon as you start swaying your hips a little more, you’ll break those delicate bones of yours, brother.”

This sentence did not contain an ounce of disdain or annoyance, neither was it filled with amusement or the slightest amount of surprise. Thor enunciated his words with the clinical and analytical indifference one would never expect from a god that had literal lightning run through his veins, especially since his gaze was glued to the other male’s waist as if it was a challenging, quantum-physics related problem to solve. And because Thor was considered to be somewhat of an idiot – most of the time rightfully so.

The young man didn’t voice his opinions with such objectivity often, and he did not attempt to better himself with extensive practice either, which is why this occurrence remained a seldom occasion which, in turn, only added to Loki’s irritation. How _dare_ that fool phrase something so ironically, just to state it in an entirely earnest manner? Such language would make anyone listening in misunderstand immediately, and by odin, Heimdall had probably perked up one of his ubiquitously motionless eyebrows, although his face had the same emotional rangeability of a highly expressive rock.

The god of mischief had spent a significant amount of time on perfecting his resemblance to a serpent in his younger years. That being the reason why he wasn’t going to deprive his humanoid form of the grace that was an elegant and sophisticated manner of stride in favor of the brutish way Asgard’s ~~heathens~~ warriors liked to parade around. Thor in particular often referred to his own style of movement as > _making the ground quiver in fear upon his arrival_ <. And yes, most of their fellow acquaintances had already reprimanded him for his unusually enlargened hubris. But that blonde disaster of a future ruler had no business nitpicking what was Loki’s swift technique of taking an opponent out with a single kick to the larynx, even if the raven-haired male had to overstretch his legs (or as Thor liked to call it: _shake his ass_ ) to do so.

Making fun of his fighting-style was one thing. Unintentionally ridiculing him without the slightest inclination as to why his words were equivocal was another topic entirely. Thor had to pay a price today. His brother would make sure to collect his due.

Loki dropped the weapon weighing down his hands in favor of his imminent performance, holding his head up high as he added a sublime and powerful character to his motions. The clothes on his body appeared to be made of the most delicate silk in that moment. But they barely amounted to what was light armor used during sparring sessions to avoid unnecessary injuries, nothing strikingly ethereal about their composition at all.

The young man who barely had the right to be called as such could only watch as his bother strolled towards him, neglecting their training session as a glint settled in those captivatingly blue eyes. An emotion tugged at the corner of Loki’s lips, not entirely estranged from his arrogant smirk but not quite that either. Every single, sensual sway of his hips was exaggerated, but it sufficed: He had his opponent right where he wanted him to be.

The god of thunder was clearly overwhelmed.

Thor did not dare reach out when his brother came to a sudden halt directly in front of him, breaths mingling as they shared a second of loaded silence. Loki had never been the type of person you could easily touch, someone that couldn’t be held down with brute force or by superior strength alone. In theory, it would’ve been far too simple of a task for Thor to gain the upper hand again, for him to throw his brother down and explain that he was attempting to help by pointing out Loki’s weaknesses in combat. Although the latter had grown innovative in the usage of his magic, a day where his tricks bested Thor still had to dawn after all.

But right now it was the latter who felt as if he was burdened with a disadvantage as he was witnessing the oppressing energy that radiated off Loki without him relying on any of his illusions at all. And the god of thunder had lost before he had even realized the fight had started, entirely captivated by the stunning display without being sure _why._

Loki curled his right hand into blonde hair, yanking it back while barring his teeth as if he’d bury them into his neck, and Thor truly did not know how to react. Instead, he growled in answer, unable to hold onto the spear he’d wielded since Mjölnir would’ve bestowed him with an unfair advantage. It clattered to the ground uselessly. Thor instinctively tilted his chin to grant Loki access. An invitation neither of them understood for what it was yet.

Cold breath ghosted across his skin for a second. He could feel a scent heavy on the tip of his tongue, coating his cavity until it finally slipped down his throat.

“I didn’t imagine you’d fall for it twice,” murmured Loki, soft baritone dissipating in the tension around them.

And then there was pain.

Thor reeled back.

The pain wasn’t blinding. And far from life-threatening, actually. A muted but nonetheless perceptible shock rushed through Thor’s abdomen, and disbelievingly, his gaze dropped, while Loki dissipated into a cloud of green with hardly concealed laughter.

Indeed, there was a dagger, lodged right into the plane of skin that already carried a scar caused by Loki’s deceptions, back when they had barely turned eight and discovered the best methods to outwit one another. 

In retrospect, it was Thor’s own fault. He hadn’t worn a chest plate by his own conceit, so Loki wasn’t solely to blame. The god of thunder had mindlessly made fun of his brother for putting on the most basic pieces of protection, knowing full well that Loki was someone who always retaliated.

“Seems like I’ve won,” resounded from a healthy distance. The god of mischief already knew what was to come, and he definitely wasn’t foolish enough to wait around for it.

Just as expected, Thor yelled out his name in ~~slightly amused~~ rage seconds later, launching into a sprint in an attempt to catch the other, not overly bothered by the blood flow he’d caused by yanking the blade out without further ado.

Neither knew what that foreign mood between them had been.

And honestly, neither cared.

“ _Loki! Get back here!_ ”


End file.
